The Trouble With In-Laws
by DeceptiveFates
Summary: She should have known that things wouldn't progress smoothly. When did they? But being shackled and bound in a dungeon was a little more dramatic than even she had expected. Apparently, creativity wasn't his forte.


_Hi all! Just a little one-shot for your enjoyment! Let me know what you think!_

_-DF_

_Disclaimer: I own nothing but the plot, all else is property of JKR._

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**The Trouble With In-Laws**

She was shaking, vibrating, like a cord strung too tightly. It was the type of shaking that could only result from that unique combination of fear, loathing, and seething rage. If she clenched her jaw any tighter it would surely fracture, but that hardly mattered given her predicament. She was bound and shackled, deep in the bowels of the castle she had called home for so many years. Why a school should have shackles, she didn't know, but luckily for her captor, they were in working condition, if a little weathered. Sadly for herself, they were not nearly weathered enough to give way to her persistent tugging.

She didn't know if he bound her for fear that the metal would give way, or because the constant creaking and clanging had finally annoyed him past his threshold of tolerance. Either way, the result was the same: scratchy rope binding her to a chair bolted to the ground with her arms bound in her lap in a mockery of propriety. The whole situation screamed of irony. She had been kidnapped from a mansion with an entire wing of dungeons only to be held captive in the one place she had always felt safest: Hogwarts. Despite the various tragedies, horrors, and general insanity that had taken place within these walls, it still had an unshakeable feeling of home.

Her captor was nowhere to be seen. He bound her and left, going Merlin-knew where; not that she cared. She almost felt insulted that he didn't bother to stay and make sure she didn't get free. But honestly, she was happier not seeing his smug face.

Merlin, how she wished she could smack that infuriating smirk off his face! A not-so-feminine punch in the face was what he deserved, the bastard! No mere slap would suffice. Not to mention, he didn't deserve the courtesy of being cursed from afar. Oh no, the muggle methods he so reviled would be more than fitting for the bigoted arse that he was! The more she raged internally, the greater her frustration grew with her own immobility. The blasted chair was bolted tightly to the ground, and with her arms now bound to her body in addition to the shackles, there was zero chance of getting free by non-magical means.

"I really should carry a knife or switchblade with me," she muttered darkly.

"Bet they wouldn't expect that! A muggle weapon on a witch…." She grumbled.

"Would hardly do you any good, I'd just have confiscated it along with your wand, you stupid girl." His voice filtered in as the door swung open to reveal her captor. He swaggered in and leaned against the wall casually. He twirled an ornate dagger idly as he observed her.

"Glare all you want, Granger; I like them feisty," he chuckled lightly. He trailed the dagger almost seductively across his lower lip.

She bared her teeth at him in revulsion. "You are seriously deranged if you think you can get away with this. I _know_ I've been missed by now, and you can be damn sure my friends will send out every Auror in the Ministry to find me," she growled.

"I quiver in fear," he drawled sarcastically. He twirled the dagger again.

He pulled an apple from the folds of his obviously expensive robes and offered it mockingly to her, "hungry?"

Her mouth watered against her will. It had already been two days and she had barely been fed in that time. Still, her pride made her snarl at the offer. It's not like he would have been benevolent enough to give her a bite anyway, she told herself.

He shrugged and carved a slice for himself. "Please, starve yourself, it'll save me the bother of having to actually kill you myself."

"Afraid to get your hands dirty?"

"Well, I'm glad you've finally come around to understanding that your _are _just a dirty mudblood. Better late than never." he said.

"You know, you'd think after 50 years of using dearly dead Voldemort's old insult, you'd come up with something new… you're not much in the creativity department, are you?" Hermione taunted back. "Seriously, how do you not understand that that insult doesn't work on me?"

"The truth shall set you free," he replied vaguely. "You know, if you had accepted your place in the world, none of this would be happening."

"I _have _accepted my place in the world– miles above your station. It's you, who have failed to understand the new world order." Hermione snarled.

"Granger, Granger, Granger…." He shook his head as he drew nearer to her. Suddenly, he drove the dagger into her chair, missing her face by mere millimeters. "You will soon be where you belong; face down in the dirt, where your blood can no longer contaminate our world."

"See, now look what you've done!" He exclaimed in exasperation as he inspected his weapon.

Hermione's eyes flicked to the dagger, surprised to see her own blood clinging to the edge of the blade. Adrenaline coursed through her, still masking the sting where the blade grazed her cheek.

"I knew I shouldn't bring nice things in with the filth, but I couldn't help myself. Ah well, I'm sure a cleansing spell should do the trick," he said conversationally.

"Don't go anywhere, little Gryffindor, I'll be back tomorrow," he promised. "In the meantime, I would suggest you make your peace and beg your lord for forgiveness, because I assure you, my dear, tomorrow will bring an end to the sin of your existence."

"I don't need forgiveness, you demented rat! If anyone should be begging for their sins, it's you!"

He quirked an eyebrow at her violent response and smirked.

"It's your funeral."

With a final glance, he turned and swept out, the door clanging loudly in his wake.

Hermione sighed, sagging in both relief and exhaustion. The adrenaline was fading, and the sharp sting of the new cut began to melt into the cacophony of aches that plagued her tightly bound body. Her limbs felt stiff from lack of movement. A painful sort of numbness was slowly washing over her, as the lack of circulation from tightened bonds filtered into her awareness. For all her bravado, Hermione knew she wouldn't last long like this.

Her eyes drifted closed and memories of the night she was taken danced before her darkened lids. It was a party; no, a ball… her ball. A grand affair to celebrate a happy occasion, not her usual style, but she was flattered nonetheless.

"Draco, if I die before you find me, I'll never forgive you, let alone marry you."

_Just my luck, kidnapped by my future father-in-law. Damn you, Lucius Malfoy!_

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_Thanks for reading. Leave a review, please! :)_


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